


Push Forward

by salamanderinspace



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Chronic Illness, Dark fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Force philosophy, Gen, Knights of Ren - Freeform, Knights of Ren POV, Lesbian Romance in Future Chapters, M/M, Major Illness, Multi, Non-binary character, Other, POV Non-Binary Character, Post-Canon, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Propaganda, Space Politics, Storytelling, Trans Character, female Knights of Ren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 12:05:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13271103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamanderinspace/pseuds/salamanderinspace
Summary: Two years after the battle of Crait, the Knights of Ren fulfill their purpose.





	1. HoloNet Expansion

**Author's Note:**

> This probably reads best as a collection of inter-connected short stories. Talk to me on tumblr: @millicentthecat

Lome watches the crowds filter into the central square in Comra's largest city. Only a few parsecs away, on Lome's planet, all people are "they;" singular pronouns do not exist in the language. "He" and "she" run together, as do "you" and "I" and "we." Because it is considered deeply informal and intimate to call a person by their name, most are called "they" or "lome," which means "one." When Lome chose their name in the Order of the Knights of Ren, they chose this name. Lome is one of many. They are a part of the crowd.

There was once a great iron statue in the center of this square. Now the plinth stands bare and the iron is put to use in shields or ships or some other majestic machinery of the Order. Soon General Hux will mount the podium and give a speech about unity; he will become a living monument. _They, he, we,_ Lome thinks. They are a living monument.

It has been two cycles since the Knights of Ren felt the call from Mustafar: agony, sorrow, shame. A great shift in the Force was bringing Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights, into position as Supreme Leader of the Galaxy. They rushed to his side at once to meet him in the salt fields of Crait. Cerme, eldest of the knights, found Kylo inconsolable. The Knights keep no secrets from one another; lies are always possible, but never necessary. That moment was no exception. "There was a girl," Kylo had said. It was all he had to say.

"It is not your duty to make yourself smaller," Cerme had told him. "You need fit in the palm of no one's hand." 

"Our hands fit," Kylo had answered. "She'll see." Lome admired the strength of their convictions. Both of them.

Shortly after this, they went with Hux and the First Order to take Comra. Many changes have occured since, here and elsewhere. Today a lieutenant mounts the plinth. Noise surges, then fades, and all eyes turn eagerly to the young officer. This lieutenant was born on Comra and has been very instrumental in this particular planet's developement these past years. He announces he will say a few words; cheering invites him to tell his tale.

His first few sentences aren't loud or distinct enough for Lome to hear. Then the mics kick in: "...the kids who lived closest to the relay station used different words than we did," he explains. "Fresh slang and different dialects. They heard them in the news and stories coming over subspace. We used to imagine we'd stumble on a hiridu crystal in the woods, and be able to boost the signal...find we were being called off-world, enrolled in fantastic academy..." There is laughter, recognition. His voice surges with sentiment as he announces that future generations won't have to dream; that every household on Comra will have HoloNet access, now. "Information is power! Speech is power!" Cheering erupts again.

Most younger people do seem pleased with the strokes of progress. Though they do not remember the Empire, they know the chaos and recession that followed its collapse. For many worlds, the New Republic was a neglectful, exploitative state; anyone younger than 30 has lived a lifetime with struggle and instability. Many planets have seen their own coups or revolutions. The First Order is not unified enough in itself to centralize and enforce regulation between these systems--even the Empire in their heyday struggled with such a task. Supreme Leader has, therefore, presented their organization as, in theory, a separate and soverign confederacy with a strong interest in redistribution and development. Worlds are integrated with an evaluation of their resources and whatever attention and support they need. They are free. They are empowered. They are organized.

Legends of the Old Republic and the Jedi do, of course, persist in the older populations on various planets. These demographics vary in their positions. There are farmers, shippers, and traders who harken with nostalgia (or bitterness) to the glory days of the Senate. They still await the rebirth of the Jedi Order proper--or perhaps the return of Luke Skywalker--as they are wary of Kylo Ren and his connections to Darth Vader. There are merchants on Skipio and Skako and bankers on Muunilist who are equally nostalgic and bitter--but in this case, they recall the greatness of the Empire, and don't believe the First Order can live up to it. There are also those for whom the Jedi and the Sith were always spooks, equally distant or abhorrent. Lastly, there are doctors and scientists and skeptics who marvel at the new regime--how it has built much, how it has borne many--but still they are full of longing. No amount of education guards the spirit against the halcyon power of myth. One thing all the elders have in common: they believe this Supreme Leader is too young and foolish to do well.

Lome disagrees. Their planet has adapted favorably. The arts are thriving, weather is warmer, transit routes are putting their world on the map, and their current generation will live longer than any in history. Their culture--the culture of they--interacts well with the First Order. However, there are a number of very ancient cultures in the systems of that region. Crossed signals and confused expectations have lead to misunderstandings, even violence. These are the places where there is the most work to be done, the most conversation to be had. The Supreme Leader goes most often to these planets to stand up and beg: _let the past die._ Lome is glad to be working for peace.

"Now it is my great honor to introduce a man who has brought this vision into reality," the young lieutenant is saying. "General Hux!" The crowd is warmed. They chant for chanting's sake. "Hux! Hux! Hux!"

The wealthy and elite in the galaxy hold mixed opinions about the Order and, particularly, General Hux. Kylo Ren is an appealing Supreme Leader to their likes--mostly because of his name and face. There are Republicans who see Leia Organa in him and various factions who see Luke or Anakin Skywalker. Courtly ladies find him to be a charming and eligible Prince. His looks and lineage buy tolerance from many who'd wrinkle their noses at the Stormtroopers and starved, scrappy young generals like Hux. Moreover, these aristocratic populations, they do not tolerate emotional outbursts. If any among them dares to become to openly political, to make too strong a statement, they are accused of frothing at the mouth and chased promptly from society. They might find Hux distasteful but they are too catty and self-devouring a caste to unite and speak with power. And they gravitate to the familiar. They are reliable that way.

"We move forward, together, in this brilliant new age..." Hux begins his speech. He will undoubtedly deliver the news he has been delivering, worlds over. After securing access to the core, the Order demilitarized branches of the Stormtrooper program and the Academy. There's been intense competition for enrollment, so they are expanding. There are visions for public works, art and science programs, and of course, the communications program they are here now to promote. The infrastructure of the HoloNet is being reworked, restored, and extended to 200,000 worlds. 

Hux's speech is informative and inspiring. Lome listens intermittently. They are leaning a little on the blade of their machete, scanning the crowd through the dark glass of their visor. Reche, a fellow Knight, stands to their left. She is paying close attention to the speech while Cerme, her mother, watches her closely. When Cerme catches Lome's gaze, she gives him a nod.

One oddity can only be explained by some surge in the Force: birth rates are up all across the galaxy. Feelings about this are mixed. They call it a gift. They say it is mostly within statistical averages. They sometimes cry to their gods and separate their sexes. For many societies which feature binary gender, this leads to much suffering. There is strict policing of segregated roles and spaces; there are steep penalties for crossed lines. The Order discourages this approach to social policy with propaganda, but does not prohibit it. Lome is somewhat neutral on the topic, preferring not to be involved with the production or rearing of children.

As a Twi'lek and a mother, Cerme has strong opinions. "Women must be allowed our bodies," she insists. "We are not _droids._ If you go against nature, you will be struck down." Today, the light of the Comran star is glinting a little off her weapons: two blasters and a rifle. They gleam black like Lome's blade. Most of the Knights carry dead black weapons in various solid mattes, to match their robes. In a crowd like this, they are unmistakable.

Hux's speech reaches it's crescendo. Soon the Knights will follow him across the square, into his transport, to a landing station in the mountains encircling. This is more for practical than security reasons. They are all going to the same place. They are going to meet the Supreme Leader.

Lome hears whispers in the streets and in the Force that the Resistance lives in secret, in hiding, and in waiting. Kiza--one of Lome's fellow humans among the Knights--often speaks of the hidden dangers, the enemies within and without the "machine." Lome has fought many battles beside her and still finds it difficult to hold these threats in their mind. They don't feel real. What is real is the brick of the square, the sound of murmuring voices and stepping feet, the soft breeze in the vinyl tents where drinks are being passed out. The crease in Lome's kimono.

And the Force. For all the work to be done and all the worlds to be walked, for Lome, the Force is larger and realer than anything.


	2. Stormtrooper Conditioning

Drij has always taken issue with the Stormtrooper Conditioning process. "We educate them not to trust themselves, their instincts," he tells the Supreme Leader. "There is an exercise--"

"One moment." Kylo is sympathetic, as far as Drij can see, but they are seated together at a dinner party and the Supreme Leader's attention is in demand.

They'd met when they were boys: when Kylo was "Ben." They had both been sent away by their families to train in the ways of the Force. A strange boy had approached Kylo on the very first day. "My name is Drij," he said, "Drij is the short form of Handrij."

"Why do you talk like that?" Ben had asked. Drij had a manner of speaking that was very slow, very cautious, and very formal. It didn't sound like proper language.

"I speak as I can," Drij answered. "Do you wish to be allies?"

"Ok." Ben had made a sound of contempt--half a huff, half a snort. Inside, though, he was relieved. It was the easiest friend he ever made, apart from the ones in his head. Those voices could be formal, too.

"Alright. Continue," Kylo invites, once he is free to talk. They are older now but Drij is still his ally: seated at his right, in a circle of Kings and Queens and galactic dignitaries. The other Knights of Ren are away on missions for the Order. 

"There is an exercise in the conditioning program," Drij explains, "where we inhibit messages between teammates in a high pressure scenario. We isolate a single trooper and then cut their text comm."

"Understood," Kylo says. "Wouldn't that foster independent thinking?"

"Perhaps, Supreme Leader, but allow me to speak of the conditioning," Drij continues. "The conditioning--"

"Is really quite necessary." General Hux has entered the conversation with a scowl. "Really, Kylo, it's none of your concern--"

Kylo's eyes don't leave Drij for an instant. "Please go on," he says, over Hux's interruption.

"The conditioning involves training the troop to presume that the group will return for them," Drij explains. "To assume that the comm is faulty or the team is occupied, and to wait. This scenario is rewarded in 100% of simulations."

"So what's the problem?" Kylo asks. He resumes eating.

"None whatsoever," Hux answers. "It teaches them to trust each other."

"Except that if they are ever really in a combat situation where they become isolated, 'hold tight and wait' may not be the most effective option," Drij argues. "We could run real, live simulations and allow them to use their own judgement about when and how to act. If we observe control groups under relaxed regulations, both in and out of the nursery, we might see improved performance. It would be logical to allow them to develop responses in a scenario where nothing is rewarded or punished except by the mission's natural outcome."

"Did you possibly consider," Hux asks, "that the drills you're speaking of involve children? We train them from birth, you know. If you want to run live drills with _children--_ "

"I do, yes," Drij replies. "Children come into the world with optimal survival instincts. They learn quickly unless their environments are artificially manipulated."

Drij and Kylo share a glance. "Sometimes," he says, "manipulation is necessary."

"Precisely," Hux agrees. "Human nerves are far too reactive. With the kind of work they do, we need to foster an artificial sense of confidence and cooperation. They won't last, otherwise."

"What you speak of is brainwashing," Drij counters.

"No," Kylo says. He huffs, a little. His voice is soft, like Ben's used to be--but only for a moment. "I respect and value your opinion," he tells Drij. "And I will take your remarks under consideration."

"Then you will consider making changes to the program?"

"We will discuss this again."


	3. Keep Calm and Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux provides dialectical support for his boyfriend, as a Grand Marshal should. Kylo has Feelings involving canonical drama with Rey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chat fic. Soft soft Kylux / hard reylo / unreylo ? Dark fluff. Functional dysfuntion.

First Order Channel Log 3087 :: 34-20171003

KR-01: Hux. I need to speak with you.

AH-01: Can't you wait to do so until I return from the mission?

KR-01: No. It's necessary. It's about the girl.

AH-01: Very well. You courted me--awkwardly, and possessively, for months, even after we lost the Supreme Leader and nearly rounded on each other, until I finally succumbed to a relationship--but by all means, talk to me about the dirty scavenger girl.

KR-01: Thank you. 

KR-01: She messed with my head, Hux. Before I met her I was feeling pretty good about things, most of the time. I enjoyed the work we were doing, the Order was growing, Snoke was guiding me toward my destiny, I was making progress ingratiating myself into the Dark Side. I had friends, too.

AH-01: I'm sure that you did.

KR-01: Yes. So this girl… it’s like she gradually remapped everything in my brain. Changed all my language. She reached inside me and found my monster, and pulled it to the surface. She listened to my stories and carefully, reoriented the conflict. I might have dreamt that. This was all happening in the Force.

AH-01: Right. The Force. That.

KR-01: She rewarded what she approved of with her company. With connection. Mostly, she withheld it, but I was craving that connection so much that I trusted her - trusted myself, when I thought I could turn her.

AH-01: Why did you think that?

KR-01: I had to. It wasn't about her lineage. It was. I needed her.

[session lapsed: will terminate in 5 minutes]

AH-01: Kylo?

AH-01: Forgive me if I'm overstepping here. I want you to know, Kylo, that a low-born feral castaway on a backwater planet is not the only person in the world lonely enough to love you. I do. Very much. 

KR-01: Even now?

KR-01: When she defied the Supreme Leader with her resistance, she stripped away everything she didn’t like in me by her example. And she replaced it with things. I'd heard her thoughts in my head from the first time: “you’re the only one who’s responsible for your brain, for what you do, for what you think. You chose who to trust. If you change, it’s because you chose to change.” 

AH-01: Alright, backtrack a moment, I'm confused. You heard her thoughts from...?

KR-01: From the moment I encountered her on Takodana and took her with me.

AH-01: I see. This is Force witchcraft, I take it?

AH-01: I can see that you're typing. I'm waiting.

KR-01: Thank you. The thing is, she wasn't wrong. I chose this. I chose to leave Luke, and to be here with Snoke, and then ... I let this happen with her because of how badly I wanted to be close to her, and how much I needed a relationship like this. All those things I had that I don’t have anymore don’t matter. I was willing to give them up. And I did.

KR-01: I miss the person I used to be. Sometimes I sit for hours and just vacantly stare.

AH: Well, I'm not sure if my input is something you're open to. But you didn't give anything up. You are Supreme Leader of the First Order. You're doing fine work. Just carry on, if you will?

KR-01: I'm failing with you. I can tell you don't trust me. That you know what really happened. In the throne room.

AH-01: Ah, yes. I do maintain some ... theories. However, it won't be a problem. The Order is operational with you at the helm.

KR-01: Things I’d put away aren’t put away anymore. Maybe it has to do with killing Han Solo. But she was there too. I’m more like her now: more emotional, less social. I miss being by myself. I want to be better to you, or to make new friends. I just can't. I'm so angry now that I’m too frightening to the people I care about.

AH-01: What can I do to help?

KR-01: That's just it. I don’t think any of this could have happened differently. I knew what was happening the whole time, and I went along with it, because there were just too many times in the past where I’d had to wrench myself away from someone who wanted to do harm. I’d been bouncing my eyes for years and years, never getting close to anyone. So a big part of this is me. I knew in the beginning. I knew, “this will end you. If you do this, it will end you.” And I still did it because having this was better than not having it.

AH-01: So what I'm getting is this. You seem to require the company of the scavenger girl, for some emotional reason. That's no problem with me, if you're concerned about that. 

KR-01: I was. Thank you.

AH-01: Not an issue. 

AH-01: You're also worried about having changed. Well, as far as I know, you were always about the way you're behaving now. But change isn't a bad thing. Once again I remind you of your current position.

KR-01: She's poisoned me with the light.

AH-01: Nonsense. 

KR-01: I just wish we could put the past behind us.

AH-01: What about your grandfather?

KR-01: Yes?

AH-01: Well, sometimes I find inspiration in the past. I thought you might as well.

KR-01: Oh. Maybe.

AH-01: Consider also the future. Are you really so sure she doesn't return your feelings? Anything is still possible.

KR-01: I guess it is.

KR-01: I feel better now.

AH-01: Yes. That's the spirit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have real work to do, and so do you. We're building something together, remember?

KR-01: Ok. Thank you, Hux.

AH-01: Anytime.


	4. Historical Visionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Knights of Ren in a healing moment.

"He placed her hand over the rip in his tunic, where the lattener's blood, still wet, painted the exposed skin of his breast like Drommanarg lace..."

Kiza tucks into her bed aboard the Disjuction. This is where she spends most of her days now, when she is not on duty. Having contracted a B strain of Gamorrean Rot during the battle of Cherpugik, she has ever since struggled with the symptoms: seizures, exhaustion, lesions, digestive issues, and a slow march toward quadriplegic paralysis. Arms and legs were quickly lost to muscular dystrophy, then regained with robotics. By the grace of the Force, and with technological accomodations, she continues to serve as a Knight of Ren. Beyond that, her days are short and her world is small. There is simply no energy.

On nights like this one, Serche comes to visit her bedside. She brings a book. This story is a lush, erotic fairytale, surreal in parts and symbollic in others. The text has been translated from Ryl with--as Serche once told Kiza--much left to be desired. Still, Kiza thinks, it is a terrific luxury to listen to a tale like this, especially with the subtle intonations and vibrance that Serche adds. "The night was perfumed with the gardens of Intybus," Che purrs, reading from the page, "the Courtesan's favorite scent." Che has inherited her mother's midnight blue skin, her voluptuous figure, her soft voice. Kiza appreciates that her friend did not also get Cereme's temperment; the matriarch of the Knights could be rather brash. Che's presence is, on the contrary, powerful, but soothing.

"Ugh, hold on, my stomach." Kiza takes a moment to settle herself, breathing a few deep breaths. It's impossible for her to focus on anything but her body when her body is screaming 'discomfort!' She's come to think of the stories Serche tells as a kind of mountaintop; something which one must be feeling well enough to climb to. That climb takes her out of herself. The pain pulls her back.

"Are you alright?" Che looks genuinely concerned. Looking on her like this, Kiza thinks, one would never know that she carries a sword as a Knight of Ren. Che killed eighty Kyaddak on Christophsis, just two nights before. Kiza took only twelve.

"I've been puking blood," Kiza says. It's her own kind of storytelling: brief, poignant, honest. It helps her climb out of herself enough to evade the question. She is not alright, will never be alright, and there is nothing to be done about it. "Ok, keep going."

"The Prince's hands, softer than the miller's," Che intones, "worked patiently through the tangles of the courtesan's hair. She finally nodded--"

"No," Kiza interjected.

"No?"

"No, that's not what happens."

"Who's telling the story now?"

"You are, but you have to tell the truth," Kiza insists. "The Courtesan would never succumb to the Prince. She'd make a pact with the miller."

"But the miller will never go against the sultan," Che points out.

"So?"

"So there can be no happy ending."

"There is for the sultan," says Kiza. "And the miller."

"Kiza," Che sighs, "that isn't how storytelling works. With the miller, there will be no conflict."

"Sometimes there is no conflict, and no happy ending," Kiza declares.

Che sets the book aside. She adjusts her posture, sighing once more, and straightening Kiza's blankets. "What will the Courtesan do all day, with the miller?"

"Nothing," Kiza concludes. "No one ever does anything. Ever again." Her eyes are nearly closed. She is coming down from the mountain.

"Dream well, nawar'aven gida," Che says, softly. Kiza feels a kiss on her cheek: more potent than Bacta for her pain, and more precious than Kyber crystal.


End file.
